


Cawroboree

by Queue



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Gen, Iambic Pentameter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 14:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queue/pseuds/Queue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all comes down to what's important: keep/the ones who matter safe and fuck the rest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cawroboree

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vicky Ocean (VickyOcean)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VickyOcean/gifts).



> Set during season 1.

It all comes down to what's important.

Why  
men can't just see that fact for what it is  
has puzzled Gemma her whole fucking life,   
beginning with her weak-ass father. When   
she first met John, he seemed to get it. By  
that time, he'd served two tours of duty; he  
had shrapnel underneath his scalp and scars  
across his back, but he'd survived, and he'd  
hung onto all his dreams about the Sons.  
He had real vision, then. He also had   
_cojones_ big enough to get his boys  
on board, to make them see how fucking great   
it all could be if they just had the guts  
to make it happen right. And he had her  
(a lot, thank God). With Piney, Clay, and all  
the rest, they founded something real: they made  
a family.

And then John lost it—lost  
the iron in his spine, lost sight of shit  
that mattered, lost his nerve, whatever, she's  
not sure what happened. Something dangerous,  
that much was obvious, something that posed  
a threat to Jax and Gemma's safety as  
the founder's blood. So Gemma made a choice:  
she figured out what _really_ mattered, and  
she made shit happen. Wasn't difficult,  
surprisingly. Maybe it should have been.  
But Gemma doesn't spend a lot of time  
rethinking past decisions. Once it's done,  
it's done. You do what has to happen to  
protect what's most important. Then you put  
it all as far behind you as you can  
and live with the results. It's simple—tough,  
but not real complicated. That's the part  
her boys don't seem to understand. She's tried  
to get it through their thick-skulled heads. No luck   
with that. Seems like the men she lives with—blood  
_and_ bed—they just don't fucking get it.

Clay  
comes closest. When his mind's on long-term goals  
and not his hands, or cars, or guns—or, hey,   
his dick—he's focused on SAMCRO the way  
he should be: as a legacy for Jax  
to run when Clay retires, a family  
that's true entirely to its own self  
and no one else's shit or issues. When  
Clay remembers not to think too much—when he   
just gets it done—the MC benefits.

And that's the way it should be. That's the point   
of SoA: not peace, but power. Pain  
where necessary; rules to be obeyed   
or pay the price; protection, on club terms;  
complete commitment to those who belong   
(according to the president and his  
old lady—they're the only ones who get   
to choose, by God); and consequences for   
the asshole turncoats. Once you're in, you're  
in; once you're patched over, you're Sam Crow's  
for life, however long that lasts you (so  
don't screw it up; you won't like where that leads).   
It isn't rocket science—just a clean  
and easy way to choose your family:  
play our game and we'll love you; fight, and die.

The problem is, these days, Clay's too goddamned   
distractible. And Jax is going through   
some tough, confusing shit—no thanks to John  
(goddamnit, man, stay _dead_ already) or  
that junkie bitch who couldn't keep her veins  
from craving meth for nine whole fucking months.   
No thanks as well to Gemma: it's her heart  
that Abel has, like Jax did, and she takes  
responsibility for how that's fucked  
up Jax's take on life right now, his sense  
of good priorities. When he gets straight  
with shit, he'll straighten out, fly right. He's Crow.  
It's what they do.

Until then, though, SAMCRO  
might need for Gemma to step up. Not that  
the club would let her lead—no coat for girls—  
but Gemma doesn't need those feathers. They   
may wear the Reaper on their backs; she's _met_  
the fucker, and she beat him, too. That's more   
that most of SAMCRO has, despite the way  
they brag in front of fresh meat. Reaper tried  
to take her heart—she's got the five-inch scar  
to prove it. And she's fucking well alive,   
which proves he failed. Put that shit in your pipe  
and smoke it. Gemma's Crow's bone-deep, not just  
a smear of ink across her tits. Yeah, she  
can run this club, make sure what happens is  
what needs to happen (not what softer hearts  
and heads—like Juice's—might come up with), from  
outside the fucking clubroom. After all,  
that's pretty much exactly what she does  
already. Has for years.

It's like that play  
she had to read in English junior year,  
the Scottish one. That guy, Macsomething, thought  
the sun shone out his ass as far as fights  
and plans for winning kingdoms were concerned.  
And when he planned for _horses_, he was right.  
(Well, that and what they used for guns—knives, swords,   
some sharp-edged shit like that. And whores, of course.)  
But when it came to anything more hard  
and complicated than the basics, guess who had  
to find solutions to the problems he'd  
created for himself and all the folks  
who counted on him? His old lady. And  
she had to do it so behind the scenes  
that even he was ignorant of just  
how much of what he did was her idea,  
or otherwise his soldiers would have freaked.  
Smart woman. Lots of power. But she lost  
her will and let the killing make her nuts.   
That, Gemma's not so big on. If it has  
to be—if someone's got to die—then best  
for everyone concerned that that should be  
what happens, either publicly, to make  
a point, or like the person disappears,   
or natural—but not a lot of talk  
about the rights and wrongs, efficiently,  
and then it's finished. No insanity.  
That shit is boring, and it's weak. It takes  
a heart of steel to keep a family  
together. Gemma's got one. Wait and see.


End file.
